


mojitos and leather

by burninmatches



Series: mojitos and leather [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 08:02:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25467457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninmatches/pseuds/burninmatches
Summary: A story about danger, self-love and alcohol. Deep down, a story about how you met Bucky Barnes. Bucky Barnes saves you from trouble once again, except this time it may compromise the friendship you two have. An older man taking care of you? Blame it on your daddy issues.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Series: mojitos and leather [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1844743
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	1. it's crazy what you do for a friend

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting anything on AO3! My tumblr is also burninmatches in case you want to check out my other pieces. Feedback is highly appreciated <3

You were barely 18 when you first met Bucky Barnes and you could instantly tell he was trouble. You had just broken up with your (older) boyfriend at the time, recently finding out he cheated on you – multiple times, apparently. Your face was stained with smudged mascara, the dark liquid almost pooling under your orbits which, quite frankly, made you look on the edge of sanity. A pretty young thing crying her heart out alone at his establishment. Being honest, you have no idea how you ended up at said place. After finding the imbecile, who you now call an ex, with his tongue down some other girl’s throat made your brain go on autopilot. You left his place and started wandering through the city’s streets. Long story short, that’s how you ended up on Brooklyn. The shiny neon sign showed “107th” – “what a curious name for a bar” was our last thought before you opened the wooden door.

Bucky Barnes was 31 when he first met you and he could tell you were looking for trouble. He has owned the place for about a year at this point - along with his best friend Steve and an old friend Natasha. Business was going great so far and, for the first time in a long while, he was having fun with his job. The trio, during busy nights, would occasionally work at the bar too. On a regular basis Steve took care of paperwork and legal contracts, Natasha handled the marketing and promoting matters and Bucky… if there’s a word for his title, it’s most likely manager. Or dictator. King, perhaps. Who knows?

Your legs dragged you slowly towards the bar counter, your shoes touching the ground briefly. The moment felt unreal, as if you were reborn an hour ago and now have to deal with this brand new soul taking over your body. Approaching the counter, a certain barman caught your eye: he was tall, broad. Dressed in all black, the leather jacket clinging on his muscles. Dark hair and blue eyes made a flaming combination – you could spend hours looking into his baby blues, but you really shouldn’t. A dangerous whisper in your mind makes you wonder why you wasted your time with your ex when there’s men (real men) looking like this.

When he checked your ID, shortly after you ordered a strawberry Mojito, you could see it in his eyes: he knew you were not 21 and that document was definitely not real. Barnes fought the urge to roll his eyes, the picture didn’t even slightly remember your appearance - he’ll have to forgive you, really: only 18 and already borrowing one of your older friend’s documents. With a 20 dollar bill in one hand, you silently begged for his compassion and the Gods above heard you. The blue eyed man looked into your glassy gaze and his words died in his throat. There was no way in hell he could say no to those puppy eyes and that glossy pout.

“Of course, kid.” He muttered, and before you could hand him the green portrait of President Jackson, he added: “It’s on me.” You quietly expressed gratitude and, at the same time, wondered how desperate you looked – it didn’t matter: you have never felt so bad in your life and, hopefully, alcohol would make you feel slightly better. Bucky proceeded to make your drink, still keeping an eye on you. You looked distracted, doe eyes staring at nothing in particular.

Barnes, as you eventually found out, is extremely good at reading people. He could easily read you: the clothes you were wearing, your body language and behavior. You were obviously young and rich. It didn’t matter how much you tried to mask your true nature: he knew immediately you’re a good girl at heart - and it was always the good girls that got in trouble.

“You’re a life saver, do you know that?” You said, after when there wasn’t many people near you anymore, lips wrapping around the black straw. With hollowed cheeks, your expression looked unearthly: he was certain that your pretty face got you out of trouble frequently. Well, he was living proof of such theory. It was humanly impossible to ever say no to you.

Bucky merely grinned, cleaning a few glasses. His tough appearance should scare you, but it didn’t. You’ve met worse.

“Seriously, thank you…?” You say, silently asking for his name. He seemed too distracted with the fragile material in his hands and you thought, for a moment, he would never reply.

“Bucky.” He answered, finally. What kind of name is that? You wondered how his name would taste on your tongue.

“_____” You whisper, although he didn’t ask. His eyes were enough invitation.

Eventually, you became a regular. Occasionally, you would bring friends along: the one who was constantly by your side was a girl named Wanda. You wouldn’t order any drinks for yourself, oh no – Wanda would order them and you would steal a sip or two. Okay, fine: it was a little bit more than just a sip or two. However, sometimes you would bring dates: the first one was a tall figure, looking too old to be going after a girl who just started her freshman year in college. The men you dated seemed all the same: older and dangerous looking. Whatever, it’s none of his business.

You even got a boyfriend, at some point. This one didn’t cheat on you, oh no. He just liked to be a psychological terrorist from time to time. Thankfully, it only lasted a couple of months. Natasha loved giving you dating advice after a particular encounter didn’t turn out as good as you thought it would. When you showed up at the 107th, trying to pretend everything was under control between sobs, she said the following words:

“You’re gonna go home, cut your own hair and get a new boyfriend”

It turned out that Nat’s advices have saved you many times - your hair, on the other hand, needed special help for a while. Having an older friend, who’s also a woman, has helped you in countless ways. Not only her guidance, but the way she cared for you and Wanda. God knows you didn’t have the best role models in your life.

On your 21st birthday, a couple of years ago, you were surprised with a light pink cupcake awaiting you. Barnes got a special candle: a sparkly question mark - que funny. It was the first time the tough looking guy acknowledged your age and you have no idea how he found out about your real birthday. “I have my ways” was all he said when you questioned him. What you soon came to realize was that Bucky has a carefree soul. Despite his threatening presence, there was a soft side inside of him. It just took a while to ravish that small portion of his personality.

You are now in your early 20’s, freshly graduated out of college. Showing up at the 107th on Fridays and Saturdays (hell, sometimes even on weekdays) was now a religious tradition for you and Wanda. Sitting on the tall stall, legs crossed and perfecting your glossy lips: the start of another night.

“Lemme tell you something’” Bucky said voice raspy and low: the typical sound of someone who had an eventful night. Not that you care, obviously. “If you manage to stay away from trouble for one night, you won’t have to pay for mojitos next time you come here.”

A bright spark took over your eyes, your gaze travelling from the small mirror in your hand towards his playful face. “Is this a challenge, Barnes?” you ask, perfectly done nails touching the cosmetic product delicately, closing it.

His elbows found the counter, making his face get closer to yours. You could smell his cologne, trying your best to avoid a shiver. Bucky was always close, but never close enough. The devil on you right shoulder whispers about how his beard would feel against your neck. Shut up, punk.

“It is.” He simply replies, leaving from behind the counter, ready to enjoy his night. Probably looking for a redhead, you assume. One last look in the small mirror and you’re ready to face whatever troubles come up tonight. It’s on, Barnes.

A couple of hours of dancing and taking shots later, the evening was wonderful – just like every other Friday at the 107th. That is, until an unpleasant shadow distracted you from your dance, from across the floor. You spot someone you definitely didn’t want to see, not even painted in gold.

“Rumlow” you whisper, a bitter taste taking over your mouth. Suddenly, a wave of bad memories washes over you. Of course this prick had to show up exactly when your best friend goes to the restroom. Wanda always had the worst timing.

You desperately look for someone, anyone you know in the sea of bodies dancing close to each other. Wanda was nowhere to be seen (probably making out with someone she just met, at this point), Natasha and Steve weren’t behind the counter and-

The angels above bless you with a sight for sore eyes. Bucky enjoying his 7th beer of the night, coolly standing against the wall, near a secluded corner. How do you know he’s already on his 7th beer? His dark locks were up in a bun, the first buttons of his shirt are undone: he only does this after 6 beers and a couple of shots. Typical Barnes. 

Your legs move faster than you could comprehend, your mind getting lost in a hurricane of feelings and desperate thoughts. Once again, you unconsciously look for Bucky during desperate times. Yeah, he would know what to do.

“He’s here.” You sigh the second you get near him.

“”Who’s here?” Bucky asks, like you’re finally admitting you’re insane. His dark brows are perfectly knitted above his long lashes.

“Rumlow!” You hiss, looking over your shoulder and noticing him a few meters away. “A. K. A the reason I started going to therapy.”

Oh, now Barnes now exactly who you’re talking about. His face falls in a frown, his eyes remaining unreadable. When it comes to his emotions, there’s not one person who can read him perfectly. Maybe he’s angry? Annoyed that you’re asking him for help for the 1000th time? Jealous? A raging monster inside of you hopes it’s the latter one.

His gaze moves from you to a spot behind your head. Bucky doesn’t say anything however you know exactly what’s happening. Your ex is approaching you. You try to swallow the lump in your throat, cursing the day you decided to date Brock Rumlow and then-

Bucky kisses you. Your front teeth clash together, although you can’t hear such sound because of the loud music. A possessive arm wraps around your waist, tightly pulling you towards his much larger body. Your hands find their way to his dark locks and, surprisingly, they’re softer than you imagined – not that you daydreamed about playing with his hair. The contrast of his beard against your soft face is delightful, his lips taste like beer and something fresh you can’t quite tell. Even when kissing you, he remained a mystery.

You mouth betrays you, letting out a moan when he gripped your hips. The man doesn’t waste such opportunity, his tongue smoothly sipping inside your mouth. You move in synch, tongues hungrily finding each other. You can’t tell how long the both of you stay like this: minutes, hours, days? The shock of such a situation slowly passes and you want more, you desperately want more. You need him in every sense. Just when you come to terms with it, his mouth leaves yours.

His baby blues travel behind you, checking for the unwanted peasant. Your doe eyes search for any kind of reaction and again, you get none. Bucky must have noticed how close you still were when he clears his throat politely and says:

“He left” Now it’s his time to search for any reaction on your face. “It looks like I’m always saving you, kid.” He adds lightheartedly.

“I owe you.” You state, on a more serious tone. Truly, the last person you ever wanted to see was Brock Rumlow.

“Damn right.” He teases, taking a sip from the beer bottle that never left his left hand. “Looks like you lost the bet” His low voice reminds you, earning a playful sigh in response. Damn, you really were looking forward to free mojitos. You give him a small smile, your legs moving against your will yet again. In order to handle such an eventful evening, you needed at least one more mojito. Perhaps a joint, if Wanda had anything left. Shit, you need to find Wanda. Bucky watches you walk away, and holds back from watching how your dress clung to your body when your hips moved.

A redhead appears in front of him and his eyes go wide. Of course, Natasha was watching the whole thing. 

“You know, she secretly loves when you call her ‘kid’.” The woman teases, knowing the effect it would happen on him.

He secretly loved calling you kid, too.


	2. wallflower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of your kiss may not be what you thought it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings! I'm so sorry it took so long to update, I'm still learning how to use this platform. Please know that any kind of feedback is welcome :)

Despite having to carry Wanda up the stairs towards her apartment, you were alright - and so was she.

“You know, we should move to Brooklyn” she mumbled as you carefully took her makeup off. Her smoky eye was now making her look like a baby panda.

“What are you talking about?” You ask giggling, still a little intoxicated yourself. Your best friend laughs along, the alcohol that travels through her veins making everything seem funnier.

Her snorts didn’t stop for a while and it was getting more ridiculous by the second. Wanda didn’t get drunk easily but was she chaotic when she did.

“We can talk about this in the morning” you state, wrapping her on a blanket.

You sit on a lonely chair, in the balcony. The city lights dance around you, shining like a thousand fairies. Still wearing your party dress, barefoot, you look like a scene taken out of a movie screen. Young, free, feeling the weight of existence on your chest.

After a few moments alone with the universe, you remember to text Nat, in order to let her know that the both of you reached home safely. The chaotic duo is okay :). The nickname for you and Wanda was born after the first time you hung out outside of the 107th.

Much to your surprise, your screen lights up almost as soon as you lock your phone, ready to go back to your serene minute. Natasha’s contact appears brightly, along with a background photo of the two of you in a booth, at Steve’s birthday last year. You smirk at the remembrance.

“How’s my favorite Russian lady doing?” You ask teasingly, checking your nails. You earned a lighthearted laugh in response.

“Do I?” You ask. Playing dumb was never your forte.

“You think I’m stupid? That I didn’t see your little moment with Bucky?” Your eyes close as your cheeks flush with heat. Another interrogation from Mother Natasha.

“Listen, Mom” you start, knowing damn well she hated that nickname “It was nothing.”

“Didn’t look like it was nothing’.” She interrupts you, voice eager for details.

“He just did it to distract Rumlow” you insist. It’s true – you know the boundaries he’d cross in order to keep you safe.

“Last time he wanted to keep a guy away from you, he just had a little talk with him” Natasha brings up. “Barnes style, of course.” She adds, amused with the memory.

You remember it: a few months ago, a guy was hitting on you, despite your polite declines. The man even came close enough to grab your waist: however you couldn’t express your rage with a loud “fuck you”. Bucky instantly grabbed said prick by his collar and kicked him out of the bar. You never really quite noticed how he was possessive with you. The memory makes you smile.

“And?” You sigh, annoyed. Deep down, you know exactly where this is going.

“Maybe he wants more than just your protection. When was the last time you saw him kissing a girl he wasn’t gonna fuck by the end of the night?”

Yikes. She has a point. A real, valid point.

“What do you expect me to do, Nat? Call him daddy from now on? Go to his place right now and ask him to fuck my brains out?” The words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them. When drunk, everything you said became 10 times more obscene. Thankfully, your close friends are now used to your lack of filter when drunk.

“Oh, don’t pretend like you never thought about this. The sexual tension between the two of you is thicker than Steve’s arms” She argues, bringing up a topic that has been on the down low for the last year. Your mouth goes dry – to say you haven’t thought about Bucky like that is a vulgar lie.

“And I never said anything about calling him daddy.” Are the last words you hear before the line goes silent.

“Rise and shine!” Wanda exclaims, stealing your blanket and earning a groan in response. You’ve been friends with the Romanian for what feels like centuries now, but you would never get used to how much of a morning person she was. That bitch never seems to have a hangover. Your attempts to get your precious covers back don’t go unnoticed.

“C’mon, don’t be like that.” She says when you try to steal the blanket back. “We’re having breakfast with Nat today.”

Of course: the monthly event of Breakfast with Nat, in which you eat pastries and gossip. How could you forget?

Your place, as Natasha likes to call it, is a cozy coffee shop called “Papillon”, which is owned by an adorable French woman. The best way to describe such place is gentle: quiet and peaceful. Your claimed table was one located in the sideway, open towards the street. A couple of flowers floated in a beautiful vase in the center of the table, surrounded by your favorite breakfast dishes.

Days like this made you a morning person: seeing your girls having fun, without a care in the world. There’s only the 3 of you in the universe, fluctuating around happiness. You waited for friendships like this for your whole life, and now you have them. A few moments later, the peaceful silence is interrupted:

“Bucky might be joining us today.” The Russian woman says, ironically taking a sip of her tea. You wonder if she planned giving such news while drinking tea.

On your way to bite the fresh croissant sitting on your plate, begging to be eaten, your brain freezes for a couple of seconds. The mere mention of his name makes your heart beat faster, and you hope that Wanda doesn’t notice your discomfort. So far, only you, Natasha and Bucky are aware of yesterday’s events - the only people aware of how everything changed.

“And since when is Bucky a morning person?” You ask, the true meaning of your words subtly implied: why the fuck is he joining us today?

Your words get lost in the wind, however. Just as if the moment was previously rehearsed, a loud roar snaps you awake from the instant. Bucky’s bike drives down the almost empty street, attracting the disapproving look from a couple of old ladies passing by. He effortlessly parks the motorcycle, and you’re quickly conscious of his presence.

Barnes takes his helmet off, shaking his head briefly in order to keep his hair out of his face. You almost whimper at the sight of him, black leather jeans clinging onto his thighs. Instead of all black, he was wearing a white shirt, along with his usual leather jacket. For someone so large and muscular, Bucky tends to move quite delicately. He looked like a God.

Every step he took had you begging for the next. His biker boots hit the concrete like he owned the world – and honestly, he did. Earth belongs to Bucky Barnes and only him. His casual pace awakes something deep inside of your core. How can someone be so chill, so untouched after what happened? Something tells you that hell would freeze over before Bucky ever crumbles in front of anyone.

“What brings you here, Bucky?” Wanda asks when re reaches your table, genuinely surprised. Meeting Bucky during daytime was such a rare event that the theory of him being a vampire was not such a foolish philosophy.

“Just wanted to check on my girls.” He explains, the way he looked at you while saying “my girls” could be easily missed.

“Have a seat, we can share some pies.” Natasha invites him, pointing at the appealing dishes laying in front of you. With a small “thanks”, he sits beside her. Your legs gently brush on his by accident and you feel like a 14 year old, almost squirming with a simple touch.

Shortly after Natasha made sure you and Wanda got to your designated uber safely, she immediately went back inside, looking for Bucky. There were only a few people, half a dozen of stray cats at the bar. The regular staff can handle this.

She finds the wanted man precisely where she thought she would: the back room. Barnes was sitting on the worn out couch, eyes closed and head thrown back. His seemingly relaxed state did not reflect the reality at all.

“Are you gonna tell me what the fuck was that or do I have to interrogate you Romanoff style?” The words surprise him, waking him up from his unfocused state.

“Tasha, c’mon.” He chuckles, trying to calm her down. “I only did it to protect her.”

“I’ve known you for over a decade, don’t bullshit me.” Noticing that rage was starting to boil over her head, she sighs, adding “I’m sorry. I just want her to be safe”

“’S alright.” He waves her apology off: after all, he understood way too deeply what it felt like to want to protect you but seeing you hurt after all.

“Rumlow had the guts to show up here. After everything.” He starts, a dark shadow evident on his voice. His blue orbits meet the ground. There really isn’t much to be said about this situation: your ex hurt you pretty badly and they couldn’t stop it. Steve still loses sleep over this. “God knows what he could do to her…”

The weight of such subject takes over the room. The redhead watches Bucky attentively, looking for any signs of lying – and, well, he wasn’t. There’s no way he would make up such story in order to take advantage of you. His gaze keeps itself on the ground, unexpectedly finding a passing ant extremely entertaining.

“So I kissed her” He sighs, suddenly wishing for a cigarette. “It was just a kiss, Nat.”

Bucky hears the sound of a dialing phone and, truly, doesn’t think much of it. She’s probably calling Steve. That is, until he hears your playful voice coming out of the speaker.

“How’s my favorite Russian lady doing?”

His eyes go wide, begging Natasha to just hang up. Although there’s a part of him that desperately wants, needs to hear your voice. You giggly tone, when drunk, was one of his favorite sounds in the world.

“Cut the crap, little dove. You know exactly why I’m calling you.” Natasha started calling you little dove because of your innocence, using it against you. Your relationship was full of nicknames, each more ridiculous than the other.

“Do I?” You inquire, nervously. Damn, _____, trying to play dumb?

“You think I’m stupid? That I didn’t see your little moment with Bucky?”

Well, that was… bold. The man of the hour was certainly not expecting her to start off like this.

“Listen, Mom” You say and Bucky has to bite back a grin, watching Nat’s reaction. Touché. She rolled her eyes good-humoredly at the name. “It was nothing”

A triumphant grin blooms on the man’s lips, basically shoving it on her face. He was right. Natasha, on the other hand, quietly holds her hand up. She’s not finished.

“Didn’t look like it was nothing’.” She interrupts you before you can start babbling.

“He just did it to distract Rumlow” You argue.

“Last time he wanted to keep a guy away from you, he just had a little talk with him” She eyes Bucky up and down, knowing exactly where to take this conversation. “Barnes style, of course.”

The mere flashback of said night boils under his skin. An older fella was being way too flirty and when he grabbed your waist, Bucky lost it. It’s not like you can’t defend yourself – as a matter of fact, you can. It’s just that he has this unspeakable need of protecting you. Call him old fashioned, but he would rather die than seeing you get hurt. The urge of shielding you from pain was more than just a passing feeling.

“And?” Your tone is annoyed, as if you have something better to do than to have this conversation at 3 in the morning. And, they have to excuse, really – you probably do.

“Maybe he wants more than just your protection. When was the last time you saw him kissing a girl he wasn’t gonna fuck by the end of the night?” Natasha’s words feel like a bomb.

Are you insane? Barnes mouths towards his friend. Since when do the both of you speak like this? Specifically about him. The amount of information exposed tonight would be the death of him. A tiny bit of shame creeps on his chest – he didn’t know that’s how you saw him.

“What do you expect me to do, Nat? Call him daddy from now on? Go to his place right now and ask him to fuck my brains out?”

The heaviness of your words take a while to sink in: he was more than used to his friends speaking like this, but you? Maybe you’re not that innocent after all. He knew, however, he would never forget the way you pronounced such vile words. Bucky’s eyes shut, in order to make him concentrate.

“Oh, don’t pretend like you never thought about this. The sexual tension between the two of you is thicker than Steve’s arms”

Is it?

“And I never said anything about calling him daddy.” She finishes, pushing the red button on her phone.

There aren’t enough words in the English language (or any language) that’s able to express the feeling that clogs Bucky’s brain.

“You can do what you want with this information.” The redhead says. “By the way, you’re having breakfast with us tomorrow.” Nat says and just like that, leaves him alone with the burden of his consciousness.

When he arrives at the specific shop the three of you always meet for breakfast at, he tries his best to not look at you. Needless to say, it doesn’t work: you fascinated him like it was pure instinct. He loved seeing you with detailed makeup and beautiful dresses, but seeing you dressed casually and with a tired face was something else. He wonders what you usually look like in the early morning, fresh out of bed and wearing nothing but-

“What brings you here, Bucky?” Wanda questions, snapping him out of his fantasy.

“Just wanted to check on my girls.” He answers, hoping the white lie would be enough to cover up his tracks.

“Have a seat, we can share some pies” Natasha insists, pointing at the tempting plates. He sits beside her, already regretting.

He was wearing a pair of silver rings on his right hand and the sight alone is enough to drive you crazy. You only notice this when he picks a pair of sunglasses from the inside of his jacket. For a brief moment you wonder what if would feel like to have his hands wrapped around your-

“_____” Natasha calls, breaking you from of the delicious daydream that took over your mind.

Bucky smirks and you hope to every God above you that no one brings up your moment. Instead, it’s worse:

“Do you mind if I steal Wanda for a little bit? Gotta show her something. ” You simply nod, letting her take your best friend. Thankfully, the Romanian doesn’t notice the swift shift on the atmosphere. The girls leave the table, going God knows where.

Now it’s only you and Bucky. He presses his elbows on the table, calmly. The dark haired man is a sight for sore eyes: if he decided to give up on the bar, he would certainly be successful in a modeling career. Barnes was the only man (besides your father) that made you feel small: only he did it in a good way. Around him was when you felt the most vulnerable – his intimidating presence is something you can’t quite describe. He eyes you for a moment before breaking the silence.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks coolly, hiding the fact he heard the entire phone call between you and the red devil. You bite your lip, wishing you haven’t left Wanda’s couch today. The spectacle of you biting your bottom lip will keep him up all night and he knows it. The raging monster inside of him makes him want to scream.

“Is there anything to talk about?” Your question floats around the two of you, like a dangerous animal waiting for its prey to make a wrong move. Anything could happen, at this point: you’re not exactly sure what the stakes are and you’re certainly not sure if you want to face them. Perhaps running away to the Amazon isn’t as daring as facing Barnes alone. “I know you only did it to protect me.”

Right. That’s what happened. He only did it to protect you. Maybe if he repeated that sentence enough times, like a frantic mantra, it would eventually become true.

“Did Rumlow reach you, kid?” He asks, genuinely concerned. The name sends chills down your spine.

“Not yet.” You answer truthfully, and Bucky smiles in response.

“I don’t think he will.” He declares, and you believe him. There were very few people scarier than Bucky and you’re unquestionably convinced Brock wouldn’t try anything now that he thinks you and Bucky are… linked in some way.

A couple of days pass by and everything goes back to normal – if the moments before the Incident could be considered normal, that is. You and Wanda have that conversation about moving to Brooklyn, which doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all. Being closer to your friends would do you good, particularly living with your best friend. Thankfully, work is enough to distract you from thinking about Bucky Barnes all the time: except when he appears in your dreams and nightmares – kissing and saving you from scary monsters.

What you don’t know is that you’re the only thing on his mind lately. And at night, he rewinds the memory of you calling him daddy like it was nothing.


	3. last nite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes saves you for the 1000th time. Why do you look surprised? The both of you walk in the middle of a battle between friendship and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day!! I hope you enjoy it <3

“If I give you 20 bucks, will you please consider throwing a One Direction themed party here?” You ask Steve, your intoxicated words coming off a bit slurred. Earning a laugh in response, you joke along until the both of you are giggling messes. The golden haired man wasn’t one to usually get drunk: his serious personality only allowed him to have fun on special occasions.

“Glad to see you having fun.” A masculine voice comes from behind you. You turn on your heels, meeting the dark skinned man.

“Sam!” You exclaim eagerly, giving him a tight hug. “Happy birthday.”

“_____, this is the 5th time you wished me happy birthday today.” He reminds you, amused at your drunken state.

You were introduced to Sam a couple of years ago: you met at Natasha’s New Year’s Eve party. You weren’t that close, but you appreciated him a lot. It was always easy being around Sam: he constantly had jokes and puns ready to make everyone laugh. Probably one of the funniest people you have ever met.

“It’s because you deserve it!” You excitedly said, hugging him again. The buzz travelling through your veins turned you into a Care Bear – yeah, the cute magenta pink one: spreading love wherever your intoxicated body decides to take you.

Watching from afar, Bucky feels a bite of irrational jealousy across his chest. It’s not like he had any reason, actually: there’s a model looking mademoiselle with her hand on his chest, her body was dangerously close to his and, surprisingly, he wants her to go away. He can’t remember her name for the sake of his life, and it isn’t necessarily because he’s drunk. In his defense, birthday parties at the 107th tended to be pretty intense. Particularly Sam’s: the guy knew at least half of New York City.

It’s now been a month since you and Bucky talked it out. A whole month you have been desperately trying to stop thinking about him. A full moon cycle you’ve been dreaming about his touch. A part of you secretly wants Rumlow to show up only so you can feel Bucky’s lips against yours again. You try your hardest to not watch attentively as… whatever her name was tries to touch your man. Your man, ____? Control yourself. Too many thoughts, not enough alcohol.

“Shots, anybody?” You ask, probably loud enough for Bucky to hear. You don’t care: if you had a penny for every time you repeated those three thoughtless internally, you would have enough money to move to the Upper East Side.

Receiving cheers in response, you walk over to the bar counter. You order a trail of tequila shots, your mouth watering; anticipating forgetting whatever was on your mind at the moment. On your way back to the table, your cheeks burn, noticing how Barnes was observing you. Let him watch – or not. Perhaps that lady will keep him busy enough.

After an hour or so – or whatever felt like an hour, you can’t really tell at this point – you go looking for Wanda and Natasha. Too caught up chatting with Sam and Steve, you completely forgot about your girls. You check the restroom, the smoking area and even other tables. They’re nowhere to be seen, so you return to the table.

“Sam, have you seen Wanda?” You ask, starting to freak out.

“She left already; I thought you went with her.” He answers, brows knitted in confusion. This couldn’t be fucking happening. You lost control of the situation and you simply can’t lose control.

“What’s going on?” Bucky asks concerned, noting how you looked distressed. Your foggy mind didn’t even notice he returned to his friends, this time by himself. Looks like whoever she was finally left. Not that you care. Not that it matters.

“Apparently Wanda left without me.” You start, sighing, trying your best to not freak out over your own words. You absolutely despised whenever something unexpected happened. Sure, it wasn’t the end of the world, but your intoxicated consciousness suggested it was a really bad situation. “And I was supposed to sleepover at her place.” Breathing deeply, you think about how much you want to go home.

“I’d drive ya, but I already had a couple of drinks.” Natasha appears her timing as perfect as it always was. You genuinely feel like she’s a witch.

“Looks like I’ll have to call an uber home.” You mutter, rolling your eyes. You reached for your phone, struggling to fish it out of your purse, dropping it accidentally. At this point, you just want to let out a loud groan.

“Hey, no way you’re going home alone. Especially like this.” Steve interrupts, motioning towards your drunken state. You still ask yourself how someone is able to be this stern, even when smashed.

“Then what am I supposed to do?” The words that leave your mouth sound more frantic than you originally aimed for. Deep down, you know he’s right: going home alone was way too risky. Your neurons frenetically look for another option.

“You can crash at my place, no big deal.” Bucky whispered, rising to his feet, in an attempt to calm you down. Barnes ignores the burning feeling on his neck – he assumed it was Nat’s red-hot smirk coming from behind him.

James Buchanan Barnes should receive a medal for saving you constantly – you both know that. The older man keeps saving your ass time after time, always willing to get his knuckles bloody for you. His kindness never fails to leave you speechless; your mind goes on a spiral motion in order to find words to show gratitude. When you’re about to crumble, he’s ready to lift you up. You give him a small smile, finally, agreeing with his plan. No one thinks much of the interaction – except Natasha. She’s having the time of her life.

The walk to his apartment is calm, strangely enough. There doesn’t seem to be an awkward breeze floating around the two of you. No, you don’t consider the fact that he’s basically carrying you as awkward. It’s adorable, actually. The way his presence makes you feel safe amuses you: the way he looks out for you feels almost intuitive.

You’ve been to Bucky’s place a few times – not all alone, of course. A small number of movie nights took place in said apartment, only because Natasha’s wasn’t available for whatever reason. You reach the dark wooden door and your breath hitches on your throat. The electrifying feeling of being alone with him will just become stronger, you know that. Bucky takes a step aside, letting you inside first. You wonder if he’s pissed for not getting to take that girl home.

The apartment is quite minimalist: dark furniture made of the same material, placed in all the right corners. An expensive looking rug lies across the living room, contrasting the couch’s color. Bucky always had an incredible sense of style.

There are a handful of frames sitting around the living room; you slowly reach your favorite one: a candid of the group. Nat was laughing at something Steve said, sitting next to him in a couch. Wanda, on the other hand, was the only one who caught the cue and smiled brightly at the camera. In the background, you were dancing with your eyes closed and hands up in the air. Bucky smiled at you, entertained with whatever dance you decided you’d try that night. The preciousness of his frozen grin gets to your heart quickly.

“One of my favorites, too.” He chuckles as you kiss the frame. The Love-a-lot Care Bear attacks once again.

“C’mon, let’s get you ready for bed.” The man says, guiding you to his bathroom, picking your discarded heels near the coffee table.

Removing the black leather jacket, Barnes entered his room before you. He excused himself, entering the bathroom in order to change into something more comfortable. You patiently waited sitting on his bed, caressing the pale devil he called his pet. You and Alpine had a very curious relationship: you loved each other; however the cat would usually use you as its pillow. Not that you’re complaining, of course. The moment calls for some drunk selfies with Alpine an, for some reason, she doesn’t rebel this time.

The bathroom door opens, revealing a sight that almost makes you choke: Bucky came out of the lavatory, wearing nothing more than a pair of grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. The trail of godlike muscles left little for the imagination. A part of you just wants to hug him, burying your head on the crook of his neck. The other one? Well, let’s just say you may have to go back to church. With a smug smirk playing on his lips, he motions towards his bathroom.

He did his best to take your make up off properly; you have to give him that. Barnes didn’t really have any make up remover so he tried his hardest with water and soap. His fingertips brush your face delicately in circular motions, as your eyes shut sleepily at such gentle actions. Needless to say, butterflies rebel in your stomach, begging to be let out in one way or another.

A gentle but strong hand holds your chin, lifting your head a bit. You open your eyelids, meeting a very proud looking Bucky. He seems extremely satisfied with his job. On his way to leave the bathroom and let you change into some of his older clothes, you stop him.

“I need help with the dress.” Your voice sounds almost whiny, cursing your sober self for choosing such a difficult piece to wear tonight. But hey, anything in the name of fashion, right?

“Turn around, sweetheart” He requests, and you oblige.

His digits find the zipper on your back, taking their time to undo it. You feel chills travelling down your spine, tingles burning under your skin. The devil on your right shoulder insists it’d feel better if the dress was on the floor and you bent over the counter.

“There ya go.” He whispers when finished, his breathing fanning over your neck.

You hold the silky material over your breasts, turning around. The amount of strength you collect on your body to not kiss Barnes is overwhelming. With a droopy smile, you say:

“Thanks, James Bond.” You joke, for some reason the silly nickname always made sense in your head when you were drunk: his name is James and he continues to save you time after time. Closing the door and leaving him outside, you take a second to breathe. You pretend you didn’t hear the sigh that left his mouth.

“I’m not gonna steal your bed, Barnes.” You claim, not satisfied with the idea of sleeping in his bed. Not without him, at least.

“You’re not stealing my bed.” He chuckles at your ridiculous disagreement. “You’re borrowing it for a night.” Bucky tries to persuade you, ready for some much needed sleeo.

“And where are you gonna sleep? In Alpine’s bed?” you reply, not convinced.

“Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have a pretty nice couch.” He replies with an obvious fact, as if you’re a 5 year old. Ugh.

“So let me sleep in it!” You plead.

“What- no! You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

“But Bucky-” You want to tell him that it’s his home and you shouldn’t take advantage of him like that, however you’re cut off midsentence.

“Take the bed. I’m not gonna argue with you.” He says sternly, making it very clear: it was an order. His tone was enough to convince you.

“…fine” You give up with a sigh, to which he rolls his eyes in response. Always a fucking brat.

“Atta girl” He praises you, hoping it will be enough to convince you to stay in the king-sized bed for more than a couple of minutes. Needless to say, it works. He mutters something in Russian before leaving the room, leaving you alone with fluffy blankets and a light heart.

You wake up with a furry feeling on your face.

“Alpine, what the fuck?” You exclaim, removing the fluffy cat from your face. Your head slightly pounds as the memories from the night before flood your mind.

“Morning, sweetheart” Barnes’ voice fills the room from where he stands, near the bed. He has a playful smile on and a toast on his left hand. You groan in response, wishing just 5 more minutes alone with the cozy blankets. The tall man walks over to where you lay, removing your covers. In response to such disrespect, you throw him a pillow.

“Easy there, tiger” He says, catching the pillow the flying fluffy object in the air. “I knew you weren’t a morning person but I definitely didn’t expect this.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.” You say, finally letting go of the soft covers that smell just like him. You’re tempted to steal them, however you doubt the material will fit inside of your purse.

“So, you have two choices” He starts, taking a bite of the toasted bread. He chews it, looking like he was thinking about the situation. “You can borrow my clothes or you can go home in that pretty little dress of yours.”

You’re still half asleep, considering both options. Rubbing your eyes, you decide it.

“Either way, I’m dropping you off.” Bucky says before leaving his room.

“How do I look?” You ask him, twirling on your heels.

The words die on his chest, never finding their way to his throat. Honestly? Bucky doesn’t think anyone in the world could pull off an oversized shirt and basketball shorts like you do. But again, he’s probably biased.

“C’mon, kid.” He simply chuckles, knowing extremely well how he could spend hours talking about how good you looked.

“Hop in” He casually instructs, already sitting on the bike.

“You think I’m getting on that thing with you?” You scoff.

“That’s what hop in means, kid” He says, handing you a black helmet.

Eventually, you give in. You clumsily position yourself, hands wrapped around Bucky’s thick torso. Before driving off, he teases:

“You can be such a brat sometimes, ____”

Thankfully, he can’t see you biting your lip at the way he says “brat”. Your head is pressed against his back, too scared to look at the road. The man had an odd tendency of driving like a maniac.

“You’ve never seen my worst, Barnes” You tease.

“Don’t worry, I can handle it sweetheart.” His answer makes your heart throb with excitement. Hopefully, one day he’ll discover your worst traits and still treat you the way he does.

The moment seemed directly taken out from a movie scene: it felt like New York stopped only so you could experience this. The chill breeze blowing on your face, the sun dripping on every corner and the way the city buzzed around you would never fail to make you smile. It felt like home.

You borrowed a pair of sunglasses from Bucky, along with the outfit. Looking like a proper Barnes project, the two of you seemed like a couple to strangers’ eyes. Even some well-trained eyes would think the same, but you dismiss such thought.

Between you and Bucky, there are always unspoken words. He doesn’t need to tell you he’s taking the long way home so you can enjoy the ride. You know what he’s doing and you trust him. Your chest feels calm for the first time in a while and you let yourself enjoy such delicate moment.

Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever and you eventually reach your street. Bucky can’t see you but he’s sure you have a pout blooming on your lips. He parks in the front of your building, and you try your best to ignore the dirty looks aimed at the two of you. You hand him the helmet, cheeks flushing when a passing old lady eyes you from head to toe. New York was definitely not ready for a basketball shorts and stiletto combo. With a kiss on your forehead, he lets you go.

As soon as you reach your door step, you turn around. Barnes is still there, waiting for you to enter the apartment building. Or run into his arms, the choice is yours. With one last smile, you mouth a silent “goodbye”. Your heart, on the other hand, begs you to let him stay.

After taking a much desired shower, you lay down on your bed. Eyes closed and hair dripping wet, the moments of the last 12 hours play in your head like a spectacle. How are you supposed to function after that?

Your discarded towel falls on the bed as you change into Bucky’s shirt again. His scent intoxicates your lungs, filling it with a heavy heart desire. You desperately want to drown in his soul, willing to stop breathing in order to become a part of him. Your brain still has the audacity to tell you that no, you don’t actually want him. Your heart, on the other hand, curses you in at least 5 different languages. Ignoring both screams, you text him:

you:  
I owe you (again)

bucky:  
I’m keeping a list

You smile at his profile picture: he was making a silly face, holding a small tower of pizza boxes. Natasha always said you’re the only one he allows himself to be goofy with. Such picture was taken during last year’s Super Bowl, when the both of you were charged with taking care of the food.

On the other side, Bucky is also admiring a picture of you. Sometime during the night, Alpine found her way to his bed. The fury cat cuddled you up, resting near your chest. When Bucky entered his room in order to wake you up, he found the heart throbbing scene. Your peaceful face looked as beautiful as ever and he wouldn’t waste the opportunity of keeping that forever as a picture. He smiled at the frozen moment, finally having a small piece of what it was like to wake up to you in the morning.


	4. i knew it from the first old fashioned we were cursed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda has some explaining to do, Natasha’s plan is revealed and you and Bucky are walking on thin ice. Someone gets hurt.

“I know what you’re gonna say, but listen to me first.” Wanda begs, entering the shoebox you call your apartment. It’s been a few hours since Bucky dropped you off and your best friend is still using the same outfit as yesterday. The brunette looked like she had an eventful night, to say the least. While you were wearing comfy sweatpants and an old shirt, she was still in the same chic dress as the night before.

“I’m listening.” You say, trying to keep your face as still as possible. This bitch better have a good explanation, otherwise she’ll face the council. The council consists in Natasha and Steve; sometimes you judge people’s actions along them. Alpine always has the final word, though.

“You were having such a great time…” She starts, holding her index finger up when you try to interrupt her. “Please, listen.” You oblige her request, deciding this wasn’t the time to be stubborn.

“When I was getting something to drink, this guy showed up…” Wanda has a huge smile on her face while the words vigorously fly out of her mouth, admiration dripping from her tone of voice. “_____, he’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“Wanda, you met him less than 20 hours ago.” You joke, knowing damn well she is, and always will be, a hopeless romantic. Wanda never really had an ordinary relationship before: either she drowns in a love-drunk state or she doesn’t even bother remembering the person’s name.

“____, please.” She brushes your comment off. “You’ve stayed with worse men for way longer than 20 hours.”

You scoff, knowing you can’t do much. The comment is ridiculous, but it’s also true. The flashbacks make you shiver, remembering past rocky relationships. Having Brock Rumlow as an ex truly is one of your worst weak spots, worthy of all kinds of jokes from your friends. Till this day, you still curse the moment you decided to date him.

“Nat said you had somewhere else to stay, that’s why I figured you’d be okay if I left earlier.” Wanda explains, her words leaving you instantly breathless. Of course, Natasha found an attempt to make you and Barnes closer.

“So, who is he?” You ask about her newly found love, in a pathetic effort to distract her from your whereabouts 20 hours ago. You were nowhere near a good mood to explain that you and Bucky were walking on thin ice, especially after yesterday. Something switched and you couldn’t begin to explain it to her.

After a couple of hours of gossip and a few minutes of discussing about your moving process, Wanda leaves the apartment. Your heart was filled with warmth, happiness flooding your brain as you thought about moving closer to your chosen family. You and Wanda found the perfect place in Brooklyn, comfy enough for the two of you and not so far away from the boys.

“How was your sleepover at Barnes’?” Natasha asks, a wolfish smile playing on her red lips.

The redhead came over to your place in order to help you with packing, shortly after your best friend left. You’re very much aware of how Natasha is desperate for the chatter; however you decide you won’t give in that easily. Not after you found out about her little plan of making you stay at Bucky’s for the night on purpose.

“’T was alright” You say, trying to play it cool. It wasn’t a lie! Why would sleeping over at a friend’s house be anything but alright?

“Don’t try to fool the devil, kid.” She teases, taking a sip of her coffee. Her legs are spread over your coffee table, Natasha is relaxed as if she owns the place – in a way, she sort of does: both the her and Wanda would come over at least a couple time a week. “I’ve known Bucky since he first moved to Moscow; I know how much he hates anyone coming over to his safe space.”

Of course, the Russian duo: they met in Moscow over 10 years ago, when Bucky was still freshly out of college. You can’t recall the reason why he moved, but you’re sure it was because of work or studies: he and Natasha have been inseparable friends ever since. Well, Barnes was never one to be recognized by his hospitality – although you are living proof that, under those tough looks, he’s actually really thoughtful.

“Especially his bed” Natasha keeps rambling about the way Barnes hates anyone who gets near his comfortable nest as you remember comfortably sleeping in it. Now that made your face as hot as an oven, tingles of warmth spreading across your cheeks – of course she would be able to read the truth in your eyes.

“No way!” Natasha exclaims, her light eyes wide and face painted in a shocked expression. “You slept in his bed?”

“He took the couch.” You try to defend yourself, letting go of one of the boxes you were holding as it dropped with a loud thud. It seemed like every time you talk to Nat, a new hurricane is born inside of your heart, urgently trying to defend your actions once again. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“What actually concerns me,” Nat starts, gaze flying through the room. “is that you’re both adults who keep denying your own feelings.”

“What? No, we’re not-” The words fly out of your mouth almost instinctively, trying to protect yourself from something that, deep down, you know it’s true.

“You can tell yourself whatever you wanna hear.” She assures you, placing her index finger up in the air. “It’s just really fucking selfish; you both deserve to be happy.”

“Like you said, we’re adults. I can handle this” You explain. “I don’t need your plans to have an excuse to be near him, we’re not teenagers anymore.” The pitiful attempt to change the subject – or regain the control over whatever your situation with Bucky was, failed. Natasha is, despite her behavior, a very polite person. Much to you happiness, the conversation moves to a pointless topic. You’re just glad she didn’t insist.

You know what they say: the first level of processing grief in denial. A part of you died a few hours ago, shortly before Natasha left your place: the fragment of you who often fooled yourself into thinking you felt nothing for Bucky Barnes. It seemed like your mind was stuck in a spiraling motion, just like a puppy that liked chasing its own tail. In this situation, however, your heart was the puppy and Bucky was the tail – and vice versa. In order to occupy your mind, you focus on packing your belongings.

Some boxes are filled to the brim with donations and others are ready for your new life sharing a place with Wanda. Either way, you’re starting a new chapter, and you truly hope it’s a good one. Having to start your life over in an attempt of feeling free from the things that hurt you in the process is terribly exhausting – you would know.

Murphy’s Law: whatever can happen, will happen. And again, you never doubted the universe and its forces against you.

Your phone rings disturbing the peaceful silence you were enjoying with a bottle of wine which, if you’re being completely honest, wasn’t unexpected – it was probably one of your girls asking about your plans for the night. Expecting to see Wanda’s name appearing brightly in the screen, your heart jumps a beat. What surprised you is the face and name of one James Buchanan Barnes, the typical picture of him with the pizza boxes. Accepting the call after a few rings, you silently wonder why he’s calling you in a Saturday night.

“Aren’t you coming?” Bucky asks, minor concern dripping from his voice. C’mon, it’s a Saturday night and you’re still not at the 107th?

“Not today. Wanted to stay home a bit, I’m too tired from packing everything.” It’s not a lie: packing a whole room in a day is can be really exhausting, especially with the thoughts that fogged your mind during the whole afternoon.

“Oh” He sounds surprised, slight disappointment dripping from his voice. “Alright.”

“What about you, working today?” You ask, playing with the hem of your – his – shirt. Somehow, after taking a much needed bath, you ended up in the gentle embrace of his top again. It still strongly smells like him.

“Eh, dunno yet. Only if Stevie needs me.” He answers and you can hear him greet some people on the other line, as the noise gets louder. You assume he just walked into the bar, ready for whatever the night ahead had in store for him. “You know what I always say…”

“The party ain’t over until you’re smiling for the mug shot.” You complete his motto with a slight smile blooming on your lips. His typical saying has got you in trouble many times – although it, thankfully, never really ended in a smiley mug shot.

You desperately want to blame the next word vomit on the bottle of wine sitting in front of you, but Natasha’s stern voice was still echoing through your mind. It’s just really fucking selfish; you both deserve to be happy.

“We can hang out, if you want to.” You almost let out a string of curse words at your awkwardness: who the fuck speaks like that, _____? “I’m bored so…”

“Be there in an hour, sweetheart.” He agrees chuckling, right before ending the call. Placing your phone close to your chest, you sigh loudly. Despite the rebellious movement in your tummy, you swear you didn’t have butterflies for dinner.

“Now, was that so hard?” Natasha asks him, playing with the olive inside of her martini. The red devil strikes once again. Bucky fully ignores her teasing, not willing to give her the satisfaction of seeing him crumble.

“Anyways, I’ll call Steve and tell him I’ll be going home earlier.” He states, like a death sentence. For the first time in a month, Bucky is consciously admitting to himself that he needs to see you –alone, this time.

“No need to, I’ll tell him.” She waves him off with a singular hand move, ready to get behind the bar counter. “Go get your girl, Barnes”

The last words make him sink his teeth in his bottom lip, fighting of a smile. _____, his girl.

Bucky arrived exactly one hour and thirty two minutes later, with his signature knock on your apartment’s door. You have to excuse his tardiness: he looked nothing but ethereal. For some reason, he went back to his place to get fresh and put some better clothes on. Black leather covered his thick thighs, chains hanging from his hips, making your mouth water. His typical black jacket was not missing.

You, on the other hand, didn’t bother about clothing – which, now thinking about it, it might not have been a great choice. Thankfully, you changed the previous shirt you were wearing. Not that it made much difference: now a dark red Henley covered you, the cotton material was stolen from Nat who stole from Steve who stole from… Bucky.

“Nice shirt” He smirks, eyeing you up and down. It takes every single bone in your body to not jump at him. He was close enough that you could smell his cologne, lungs drowning in his scent. You let him in, playfully rolling your eyes. James Barnes would be the death of you.

Elephant? What elephant in the room? There’s only the two of you.

“I came here to talk, actually.” He seems unbothered, as always. His presence intimidated you. Elbows placed carefully in the kitchen counter you were sitting on, mere inches away from each other.

“Talk about what?” You try to play dumb, again, desperately wishing it would work with him. For some reason, you tend to forget that Natasha learned most of her tricks with the devil himself.

“About us.” He simply stated, like it was nothing. You suddenly feel small, petite; you haven’t felt this way since you were grounded at 16 years old - your father called you many names that night. Bucky makes you feel tiny, wanting some kind of protection – but only if it comes from him.

“I want you to look me in the eye and tell me there’s nothing goin’ on between us,” His fingertips held your chin, pulling your face near his. You’re slight centimeters apart, an invisible wall keeping you from finally breaking and becoming his. “Then I’ll leave and we’ll go back to what we always were.”

The words die on your chest, never finding their way to your throat. You want to scream, you would beg him to stay if he even dared moving towards the door. Only if you weren’t so selfish. Only I you actually believed that you deserved to be happy.

Your mouth falls agape; your gaze remains glued to his steel blue eyes. A million thoughts travel through your mind, considering the consequences of whatever could happen if he touched you again. Unconsciously, you lick your lips.

“Fuck it.” Bucky murmured before his lips collided against yours, knocking the air out of your chest. Whatever can happen, will happen: and again, you never doubted the universe and its forces working in your favor.

The way he kisses you this time is… different. One of his arms is strongly wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your hands find their way into his messy hair, untying his usual bun. The hunger is evident on the taste of his tongue, but he’s also gentle. Taking his time kissing you, like you have all the time in the world – God, you hope you do.

It’s wet, it’s sloppy, and it’s desperate. The way he kisses you is so certain – it’s like you’re already his. Almost as if it’s instinctively your legs find their way around Bucky’s waist. He easily lifts you up, making you feel like you weight nothing, moving towards your living room.

Bucky lays you on the sofa, one of the only remaining furniture in your living room, taking a second to take his jacket off. You desperately want to drown in his scent as his chest gets closer to yours; you need his presence to take over you. His large frame is pressed against you, his hands travelling through your legs and hips. The moment you’ve been daydreaming since God knows when is finally happening.

Impolitely, a loud sound interrupts it, almost as if the saints above knew you were having too much fun. Bucky’s cellphone vibrates on the coffee table, creating a weird energy. The both of you think the same thing, for different reasons: who the fuck is calling him in the middle of the night?

“Hey” He answers coolly. His eyebrows knit together in confusion, worried about whatever was happening in the other line.

“What?” His voice sounds oddly scared, and a chill travels down your spine. “Hospital?”


	5. i know you're feeling it too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things aren’t what they seem when someone ends up in the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> m back! Here’s part 5 after a loooooooooooong wait haha. Smut is coming soon I promise. ALSO, I’m taking requests for extras/headcannons about this universe on tumblr!

Your legs move quicker than you could imagine possible, dragging you through the ice white corridor of the Brooklyn Hospital Center. Bucky is a few steps ahead you – it’s not really your fault that his huge figure was much bigger than yours, that included long legs.

“If you touch me one more time…” Natasha’s voice is whispered, and Steve looks like he could fall apart at any given moment.

You and Bucky find your way towards where a furious redhead is trying to escape from a few bandages and you can’t help but smile at her stubbornness.

The fact that Rogers, a tall, broad man looks pale white because Natasha accidentally hurt herself seems hilarious to you. He looks like he has seen a ghost – and, little do you know, he has.

“What do you mean hospital?” Bucky’s worried voice echoed through the living room. You felt like every hair in your body lifts up, concern filling your heart. You mouth a quiet “who?”, too scared to break the sacred silence that possess the both of you for long seconds, but he holds his hand up making you instantly keep quiet. He hummed along, agreeing with whoever was on the other side of the line.

“I’m on my way.” He sighs, hanging up. Bucky’s steel gaze never left your face; his lingering touch on your cheek left the ghost of a shiver behind. You need to know what happened but you also want to stay like this with Bucky. Frozen, forever. Untouchable.

“We always have the wrong timing, don’t we sweetheart?” His thumb delicately brushes against your bottom lip. In response, you nod and peck the pad of his digital. Bucky’s right – Romeo and Juliet could not compare to your lack of good fortune.

“Apparently, Tasha accidentally cut herself while cleaning some glasses. Steve took her to the ER.” Bucky releases himself from your gentle embrace with a small frown on his lips, such expression you refuse to mention. 

“Oh no.” You say softly. His stare searches the room in, trying to find his leather jacket that got lost somewhere between your sloppy kisses from the kitchen to the living room. He finds said clothing article under a chair, long forgotten.

“Put a jacket on, you’re coming with me.” It’s not an order; however he’s not asking nicely either. His long fingers fumble though his dark locks, creating a messy bun on top of his head.

“Yeah, and how are we gonna explain why we’re together?” You ask, as if it was obvious – and it kind of was. “On a Saturday night, mind you.” You add, getting up from the old, worn out sofa that would be belong to Goodwill in a matter of days.

“Shit.” He let out a sight, his fingers running through the bridge of his nose. God, this would be more complicated than he originally thought. You stayed like that for a brief moment, staring back at his worried expression, dark brows knitted together on top of rich blue eyes.

His expression slightly lit up for a second before he tossed you a black helmet and said:

“Don’t worry, I got this.”

“I can do it by myself, thank you very much.” Natasha gently pulls Steve’s hand away from hers. The cut wasn’t deep or long, it was more of a scare than anything.

“Nat I’m just trying to help you.” The man insists, trying to hold her hand and inspect her bandages one more time.

“I’m fine.” The Russian woman has always been tough, and you seem to be the only one who actually believed her words: hell would freeze over before the great Natasha Romanoff let herself fall because of a stupid cut.

The redhead looks like she would rather be anywhere else than that ER room and you couldn’t blame her.

You tasted familiar and new at the same time, like he has always knew this would be exactly what heaven felt like – you no longer taste like strawberry mojitos, oh no. While Bucky’s tongue discovered your mouth once again, he wondered why he waited so long to claim you like this, to make you his. He would refuse to run away from his feelings again: after all, it seemed like the universe was in your favor for the first time in a while.

He couldn’t be more wrong.

“Bucky…” Your voice is nothing but a broken whisper, a lovely melody that he could listen to over and over, followed by a small moan as he leaves open mouthed kisses through your neck. His calloused hands travel through your body, exploring the delicate skin of your thighs.

An arrogant sound snaps his reality in half, rudely disrupting his peaceful paradise.

It takes every fiber of his body to let go of your lips in order to grab his phone in the small coffee table – one of the only remaining furniture in your apartment. The caller ID makes him frown: why the fuck was Sam calling him in the middle of the night?

“Hey Nat, is that…?” Steve’s voice dies halfway through his sentence, too scared that if he finished it, his worst fear would strangely become real.

_____’s ex.

Brock fucking Rumlow at the 107th.

Natasha felt her blood boil under her skin when her gaze fell on Rumlow’s large figure, trying her absolute hardest not to jump over the counter and rip the idiot’s face skin off. He slowly made his way towards the counter, his dark eyes scanning the room in search of something – someone. As he reached the counter, his annoying voice reverberated:

“Where is she?” Brock asked casually, elbows placed on the mahogany colored counter. Oh, he didn’t have to specify who he was looking for – not at all. “Funny, I don’t see her new owner either.”

Steve’s mouth fell agape, the man’s boldness sending shivers down his spine, a long string of curses dying in his chest. Natasha was quicker than that.

“Funny, I thought you wouldn’t have the guts to show up here after what happened.” She starts, refusing to look him in the eye – he never deserved that kind of respect. Her skilled hands remained cleaning the glasses; such activity seemed way more entertaining than it did a few moments ago. “Yet here you are.”

“It doesn’t surprise me, that kind of slut always needs a man to keep her in place.”

If it wasn’t for the shrieking sound of a breaking glass, Steve would have lost his primary defendant privileges in a heartbeat. Too distracted by Romanoff’s short-lived hiss of pain while the red hot blood stained her white shirt, the man didn’t pay attention to whatever Rumlow said next.

He disappeared before Sam arrived, confused and worried.

“Sam, I’ll take her to the hospital.” The blond said, and before the brown skinned man could protest in order to go with them instead, he added:

“I need you to listen carefully.” He then proceeded to explain his orders.

Sam has never dialed Bucky’s number so fast.

“Hey.” Barnes answered coolly, a slight tone of annoyance dripping from his mouth.

“Rumlow showed up here, Nat’s in the hospital.” Sam’s words didn’t seem real. Bucky could feel his heart sink into his stomach.

“What do you mean hospital?” He asks, almost failing to recall that you were underneath him, big doe eyes questioning the situation.

“It’s nothing too extreme; she accidentally slipped her hand cause of that asshole.” He explains briefly as Bucky hums along, doing his best not let his expression show what was happening on the other side of the line.

“Listen, I need you to get ____ and bring her here too. I know he won’t go after her, but…”

The lack of words doesn’t need to be filled. Bucky understands.

Rumlow has never laid a finger on you, but his words and actions broke you from inside out – and you were still building yourself up from the ground. The mere fact that he showed up at the 107th, in order to find you, even after thinking that you and Bucky were together, could make you have a panic attack – and honestly, some things are better left unsaid.

“I’m on my way.”

Bucky’s words have different weights on each side of the line.

“But the doctor said you shouldn’t force it, please stop being stubborn and let me help you!”

You roll your eyes at Steve’s words while Bucky lets out a chuckle. Once again, the both of them fighting like a married couple. For a brief moment, you silently appreciate how your dynamics as a friend group works.

For example, no one questioned why Bucky had an arm snaked around your waist, holding you close. You would simply reply saying that it was a bit chilly tonight, to which they would simply shrug. They often let Natasha do the reading between lines and hidden stares; however she couldn’t do it while arguing with Steve about how she could do things by herself, thank you very much.

When you arrived, Bucky explained how he was helping you with some of the moving stuff – or whatever words left his mouth while he needed his clouded brain to work quickly, he honestly doesn’t remember. Nothing but Rumlow crossed his mind and he was still doing his best to not let it show. Again, no questions and answers needed. The unspoken should remain like that.

You and Bucky walk silently through the almost empty parking lot, as a cool breeze hits your face. Natasha has been dismissed and, much to her relief, free to go home without staying at the hospital for any longer. Steve, on the other hand, insisted on getting her home – which after a promise of her favorite food, she gave in.

Barnes takes a moment to appreciate you, his tight grip never leaving your waist. For the first time after the phone call, he feels calm – even though a possessiveness, which he wasn’t proud of, slightly stung his chest. Nothing could hurt you while you were in his presence. 

The generous piece of skin between the material of your – his – shirt and the grey sweatpants you were wearing was driving him crazy, as he once again drowned himself in your presence. Your worn out sneakers hit the ground rapidly, desperate to be anywhere rather than that empty parking lot. Desperate to be somewhere, anywhere with him.

“So…” Your voice softly breaks the silence, words getting lost in the wind as Barnes eyes you closely. You’re mere inches apart, mere inches of striking a match and throwing it into a puddle of gasoline – and you wanted to play with fire. With a devilish grin planted on your lips, you ask:

“Your place or mine?”


	6. moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the boiling bubble of tension that surrounds you and bucky finally breaks - meanwhile someone is up to no good. (smut, 18+: vaginal fingering, protected sex, dirty talk (blink and you’ll miss it). brief mention of past toxic relationship by the end.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after... a few months, i decided to resume the series! in my opinion, my writing style has changed a lot and i’m still adapting it to the series. please let me know what you think, feedback/kudos are highly important! i hope you enjoy it <3

You spent the last few years fantasizing about what it’d be like to have Bucky – at the end of the day, however, it didn’t happen as you pictured it: you can add that to the list of unanticipated experiences you’ve had. Hopefully it’ll help your résumé.   
Truth be told, you expected to be ready for said experience – but it seemed like the universe had other plans. You haven’t shaved in a few days, haven’t gotten your nails done in a couple of weeks, wasn’t wearing any makeup-  
You brush the intrusive thought off.   
It didn’t matter – not right now. 

Your place or mine?  
Your words still echo in his head, your honey-dipped voice entrancing him smoothly, as Bucky tries his hardest to focus on the road ahead of him. Your arms were tightly snaked around his torso, head resting against his back. This time, Barnes didn’t take the long way home.  
Mine.  
His answer still floats through your brain: you’re still unsure whether he was talking about his place or you.

You stumble through his apartment’s door, never letting go of each other’s lips. Years of sexual tension and silent feelings boil under your skin, ready to burst. Wordlessly, you curse yourself for all those nights you went home with someone who wasn’t Bucky Barnes.   
Bucky clumsily shuts the door behind him with his foot. You drop your jacket on the floor.  
The irony of the moment makes you giggle in between kisses – Bucky has to forgive you, really: the both of you are acting like a couple of horny, drunk teenagers. In a peculiar way, it feels like you’re losing your virginity all over again. The way his hands gripped on your waist was enough to make butterflies rebel on your stomach.   
It was his time to take his jacket off.   
Everything around you pulses in an erotic rhythm, as if the universe itself was blessing the moment– as if, finally, you deserve good things. You haven’t felt this nervous since your first kiss, which happened over a decade ago with stupid guy from Science class – perhaps it was the moment you realize that guys your age simply wouldn’t do it for you.   
Bucky picks you up, taking you to his bedroom – Alpine, for some reason, realizes this isn’t the time to be around her owner: she leaves the place as soon as you enter it. As you get to his bedroom, tangled with Barnes, you can’t help but drown in his presence, even though you were the one asleep I his bed not even 24 hours ago. Everything looks and smells and feels exactly like him.   
You get on your knees, and, as you start to stroke his erection under his boxer briefs, Bucky places a strong hand on top of yours, removing it. It takes everything in him to do so; given the fact he’s thought about your mouth a thousand times before. You merely stare at him, confused.   
“Hey, hey.” He whispers against your lips, after pulling you up. “Next time, yeah?”   
Next time. Those words echo in your brain as butterflies’ rebel in your stomach. You smile shyly in response, pecking his lips. Bucky doesn’t miss the sweet gesture, kissing you gently in response. At a certain point, you’re not quite sure where he ends and you begin – hands are kept busy and minds are fogged with lust. His calloused fingertips travel through your soft skin, gently marking you with sin.   
Bucky’s teeth sink on your bottom lip, causing you to moan in his mouth.  
The unspoken words are now obvious: I’ll make up for all these years I was supposed to be making you mine. Your – his – shirt was tossed somewhere in the way towards his room, along your shoes. Bucky feels an unknown wave hits his chest when he undresses you, almost overwhelmed with said feeling. He hasn’t felt this way in… a really long time. You’re lying underneath him, a few silver lines of moonlight wash over your body, gracefully lighting you up.   
A single, skillful hand slides up your back, fingers brushing against the material of your bra. In one swift motion, he unclasps it, exposing you to the cool air. Goose bumps form along your skin, leaving the ghost of a shiver behind, making your nipples perk up. His lips move from your jaw to your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin as his fingertips play with your sensitive buds. You gasp, throwing your head back towards the soft mattress. Your blood boils in anticipation and you grow wetter by the second, fingernails softly travelling through the back of his neck.  
He couldn’t wait to make you his.   
The moment moves quicker, as clothes get tossed somewhere in the room, which leaves you in your underwear. Barnes, however, is merely shirtless.   
His hands travel through your body, awfully slowly, until he reaches the hem of your panties. Piercing blue eyes look into yours, silently asking for permission – you nod, bottom lip caught between your teeth. Bucky removes the soft material from your body, fully exposing you to him.  
As his strong hands gripped your thighs, Bucky opens your legs, slightly – just enough to fully admire your body, taking you in as if you were merely his best dream that would eventually slip away through his hands. As if you’d vanish right under his gaze.   
“So beautiful” He whispers, mostly to himself. Bucky’s eyes wander through your body for a few more seconds before he connects your lips in a gentle peck. A wave of heat washes over your face as he looks at your glossy pussy, smiling cockily at you.  
“I haven’t even started, doll.” He teases, warm breath fanning on your face. His husky voice sets your core alight.  
“Then what are you waiting for?” You bite back, words falling from your lips before you could fully process them, causing Bucky to raise his eyebrows in response.  
The soft pad of his finger finds your sensitive bud, causing a soft moan to erupt from your lips – which he swallows in an open-mouthed kiss, tongue sliding against yours. Bucky tastes like faint cigarettes and a hint of beer. You taste like indistinctly of wine and a hint of chocolate.   
You quiver under his touch, feeling the bubble of warmth growing on your lower abdomen. His skillful digits move in fast circle motions on your clit as you arch your back – you knew, in that moment, that his touch would burn under your skin forever.   
Bucky’s fingers tease your entrance, causing you to thrust your hips in his direction. He gets the message: you need more.   
His plump, puffy lips find your nipple as his fingertips proceed to tease you, refusing to give you what you wanted. Your hands find his dark locks, softly pulling on them – which causes Bucky to moan against your skin, nibbling harder on your sensitive nipples. Biting back a whimper, you throw your head back in pleasure as he pumps two fingers in your soaked cunt – the mixture of said action combined with the motion on your clit almost sets you on fire. Unconsciously, you grind your hips against his fingers, silently begging for more. His digits move quickly, and the bubble of warmth on your lower abdomen grows bigger.  
“I’ve waited years to have you, I’m taking my time with you now.” He whispers against your lips, removing his fingers from your soaked heat, causing you to groan in response.  
Bucky’s lips find your neck, nibbling at the soft skin. He pulls back slightly, admiring the love bites he left on you: a trail of bruises to remind you in the morning – you belong to him. You bite your lips again, not wanting to give you the satisfaction of begging once again. Almost as if he could read your mind, Barnes intervenes.   
“Don’t get all shy on me now, pretty girl. I wanna hear ya.” He purrs, teasingly biting the shell of your ear. “What d’you want, huh? Tell me.”  
His words make you shudder in response as you stare back at him, doe eyed. Still, it takes you a few seconds to build enough strength in order to answer him. You could get drunk on the power he has over you.  
“Bucky.” The way his name leaves your lips sounds like a broken mantra, one you’ll never get tired of saying – and he won’t ever get tired of listening. Your foreheads are glued together, as he ocean eyes look into yours. “I want you.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, puffy lips blooming into a smile that was equally angelic as devilish.   
After pecking your lips one more time, Bucky gets up from the bed, leaving you alone in the soft sheets. He tries his absolute hardest not to get entranced by your figure: you’re covered in a thin layer of sweat as the moonlight shines against your skin. You have never looked more beautiful – again, he’s probably biased, but still. Your image was nothing less than Venus herself.   
He removes his black leather pants, along with his underwear, causing his erection to break free. You bite your lip, getting lost in the moment: his toned, slightly tanned body was definitely built by the Creator himself.  
Shortly before joining on the big mattress once again, he fishes a condom from his back pocket, leaving the leather fabric on the ground. You raise your eyebrows, giving him a questioning look. He places the pad of his thumb on your bottom lip, smiling wolfishly.   
“Don’t look at me like that, princess. We’ve been playing this cat and mouse game for a few years now.” Bucky answers before hungrily connecting your lips once again.   
After rolling the plastic over his erection, he brushes the angry red tip of his cock against your soaked slit, teasingly – your pussy aches, begging for something that only he could give you.   
“Please, please.” You beg, moving your hips against his. Fuck me already, you bastard.   
When he finally enters your aching heat, your eyes are squeezed shut as your blood boil under your skin. Your muscles clench deliciously around him, causing him to groan loudly in your ear. Your nails scratch his back, causing him to arch it. Newton’s third law has never been more real in your life – actions cause reactions and, soon, you and Barnes become only one thing.   
Bucky’s hips move against yours in a comfortable pace – quick enough to set your soul and fire and slow enough to tease you. Your dominant leg hooks around him, pushing his body in your direction – his sweaty forehead glue on yours, his hungry eyes looking into your begging ones.  
He continues to pound into you, as a thread of curses fall from your lips. His fingers find your clit once again, skillfully moving in circle motions, causing you to throw your back towards the mattress, whining loudly in pleasure. Your nails leave angry red lines on his muscular back, and back hisses – both in pain and pleasure.   
“You feel so fucking good.” Bucky breathes against your neck, biting the soft skin once again. He moves one of your legs to his shoulder, burying himself deeper in your pussy. “So fucking tight.”  
“Bucky, oh my god.”   
The white-hot bubble of warmth in your lower abdomen is reaching its limit, nearly bursting. Your walls clench tighter round him – and, oh my god, Bucky hasn’t felt this way in so fucking long. His motions get sloppier as he loses his rhythm, plump lips falling in a perfect “O” shape. You pull his hair tighter, too overwhelmed in pleasure to tell him that you’re so close.   
“Gonna cum, pretty girl?” He asks, fastening his pace and holding you closer. “Let go, I’ve got you.”  
His words were enough to burst it and you feel the Earth stutter on its axis. A flaming hot feeling washes over your body, leaving trails of fire behind. Bucky’s name falls from your lips like a prayer – he gently touches your chin, motioning your face towards his.  
He feels your body pulsing around his, walls lusciously clenching around him. Bucky gets lost in a lusty fog, a thread of Russian curses falling from his lips.  
“’M gonna cum.” He confesses, burying his face on your neck.  
“Let go, cum for me.” Your voice is sultry, begging him to release – and he does. With one last calling for your name, Bucky’s strong body collapses on top of yours, causing shockwaves to travel through your bodies.   
He remains inside you, coming down from his high – you stroke his hair gently as he places gentle kisses on your collarbones. Sweet nothings get lost in the post-coital glow, and you finally feel at home. 

A few miles away, Brock Rumlow smokes a cigarette, leaning against a brick wall. The smoke escapes his lips as he lets out a huff, ungracefully cursing – at this point he doesn’t even know why.   
How could _____ leave him?  
He’s aware it’s been years, thank you very much, however he refuses to let go.   
If you didn’t belong to him, then you couldn’t belong to anyone else.   
It was the calm before the storm.


End file.
